Adieu
by Morning. xx
Summary: DC/OC, Drabble- For Gaby Black's French Challenge. Based on a quote by Alphonse de Lamartine. Dennis can't believe Colin is dead.


This is for Gaby Black's French Challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. I had to use at least three of the French words she supplied, and base the story on a quote. I quite like this, and it made me cry. It's the first time in a while since I cried while writing something.

The lyrics down below are to Évangeline, and I don't know the author. It's not me, though. I don't own Harry Potter, and thus, the characters featured here. I do, however, own Marie LaFontaine. A little background might be nice, hmm? Well, her family's from the small island on the Canadian West Coast that still deems itself Acadian (I can't remember it's name for love nor money), and they immigrated back to France when Marie was eight. Marie got her Hogwarts letter, and she's in her third year with Dennis.

Hope you like it.

* * *

**(adieu)**

_(sometimes only one person is missing and the whole world seems depopulated_

_alphonse de lamartine)_

Dennis Creevy is sitting in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, surrounded by laughing, shouting people. Beyond the tables where mirth and glee run rampant, lie fifty-four bodies. And sure, Dennis knows these fifty-four people; he's shed a few tears over their departure. But his face is slick with tears, and his sobs are quiet under the booming roar of celebration. Lying down beside the long, somber bodies is one small, peaceful body. Dennis can't believe who's lying on the floor.

_Colin._

Colin, who was right behind him when they went through to the Hog's Head. Colin, who felt his coin burn long before Dennis did. Colin, who never could back down from something as brave, and as ridiculously stupid as this. Colin, his big brother.

Dennis was naïve enough to believe that Colin would stay behind him, protecting him, as a big brother ought to. He was never sure when Colin left him, to really protect him from the darkness that shrouded the castle. Dennis was only aware of a sudden fear that his brother was gone. He shouted himself hoarse looking for Colin, and sobbed uncontrollably, wondering if he'd ever talk to him again. Marie LaFontaine came over to him, and hugged him, saying, "He'll come back, you'll see. He'll come through the portrait, a little bloody, with an air of _je-ne-sais-quoi_, laughing when he tells you that it's all over. You'll see."

"Are you sure? You're sure he'll come back at all?"

"Of course he will! He's too brave, too good to be k-" Marie couldn't say the word.

In his mind, Dennis was going over images of Colin spread-eagled on the floor, blood seeping from his wounds.

And now, sitting at a table (he doesn't ever know which one it is anymore, it's swarmed with everyone), it's déja-vu, because Colin's lying there. Marie isn't saying anything, but he can't feel her warmth beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. Dennis can't see anyone. It's just him, and Colin's body.

With incredible effort, Dennis stands up. His ears are deaf to the "I'm so sorry"s, and the "Are you okay"s, deaf to heavily accented voice of Marie, begging for forgiveness. He stumbles over to the rows of bodies, and his eyes are blind to the fifty-three other corpses, he can only see Colin. There is no tinge of warmth on that face, no hint of the smile that so often led to that wheezy laughter that Dennis loved.

But everything's past tense now. Anything that has to do with Colin is past tense, and Dennis can't stand the present tense without Colin. He's so alone.

But into the bubble of emptiness, and loneliness, a hand grasps. It's so warm, so unlike the ice of the bubble. A voice follows, and it makes Dennis cry even harder, though the words mean nothing to him.

"_Gabriel mourut dans tes bras, _

_Sur sa bouche tu déposas_

_Un baiser long comme ta vie,_

_Il faut avoir beaucoup aimé _

_Pour pouvour encore retrouver_

_La force de dire merci_

_Évangeline, Évangeline…"_

Marie LaFontaine is singing farewell to Colin, and Dennis can only cry harder, and take the Acadian girl into his arms, where their tears mingle, and fall like so many raindrops to the broken ground.

The present tense without Colin, Dennis reflects, finally hearing the roar of happiness, is terrible. But, with Marie, and he squeezes her hand as she whispers '_Adieu'_, it might be bearable.


End file.
